


Something old, something new

by inichuinmylife



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Character Study, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inichuinmylife/pseuds/inichuinmylife
Summary: Yao finds a box of letters in the wardrobe. They're for him.
Relationships: China/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Something old, something new

**Author's Note:**

> Legend has it once every two years zoe resurrects from the dead to post a nichu fic
> 
> Legend also has it zoe would write more if she wasn't working overtime all the bloody time (and wasn't so much of a perfectionist but we're working on that)
> 
> Legend also has it zoe is very tired goodnight

“What are you doing?”

Those were his first words to Kiku upon coming home to find him in the kitchen, balanced precariously on the step stool, gripping a screwdriver between his teeth, and wearing only slippers, suspiciously loose boxer briefs, and bright-green rubber gloves.

Kiku jumped and pressed a Marigold-clad hand to his chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. But really, what are you doing?”

His husband set the screwdriver down on the draining board and watched, betrayed, as it fell into the sink. “Fixing the cupboard.”

“Well, yes, I can see that.”

Kiku shot him The Look.

“Can’t we just leave it for the landlord to do? We’re busy enough as it is.”

Kiku shot him The Other Look.

“I’m just saying. We’re moving on Saturday.”

“I know,” Kiku fished the screwdriver out of the sink and wrinkled his nose as he shook it off. “I just don’t want there to be any reason for him to not give us the deposit back, that’s all. I mean, we’re the ones who broke it.”

“We? Who was the one who went after that spider with the hoover?”

“I’m not having spiders living in the cupboards. Or anywhere else in the house, for that matter. Anyway, I’ve done most of it.”

He turned back to the cupboard, straining to reach as he steadied himself on the steps. Yao looked around at the kitchen guiltily. The worktops were bare. The other cupboards were spotless. A bowl of dirty soapy water rested under the stool, a lone dishcloth draped miserably over the side. Kiku seemed tired.

“Do you need any help?”

“Not really.” Yao watched him open and close the door experimentally. “I’ll be done in a minute. Just got to tighten up this hinge, and that’ll be it.”

“Oh.”

Kiku caught sight of his expression and stopped. “Actually, there is something you could do. You wouldn’t get me a drink, would you?”

“Let me guess: iced tea?”

“Yes please. I’m roasting.”

Yao opened the fridge. “Big glass or little glass?”

“Big one, please.”

He poured two glasses of the tea. “It’s cold, so don’t drink it all in one go, or you’ll get a stomach ache.”

“Mmhmm,” Kiku said, entirely unconcerned.

“I mean it. Besides, surely you can’t be that warm. It’s only 30 degrees.”

“Only 30 degrees?” Kiku looked at him like he’d just suggested putting the heating on. “That’s about as hot as it gets in Sapporo, remember? It’s stifling.”

He had to admit that it was kind of warm. But only because the British people apparently hated themselves so much that not only had they neglected to install air conditioning anywhere but the supermarkets, they had also built their houses to keep the heat in, not let it out, which meant that generally speaking, the only way to cool yourself down was to switch a fan on and have it blow hot air at you.

And for Kiku, who came from a god-forsaken place where winter lasted almost _half the year_ and to whom anything above 25 degrees was practically a death sentence, this was not enough. He didn’t just want to be cool, he wanted to be _cold._ The other day Yao had even caught him trying to strap an ice pack to his back using Sellotape.

“Do you want me to open the window? It might let some air in.”

Kiku paused. “There’s been a lot of bugs out today.”

Ah yes, the bugs. British people hadn’t heard of screens, either, and the last time they’d tried to leave the window open they’d ended up being invaded by at least three wasps, a horsefly the size of a five pence piece, several flying ants, and some kind of large flying beetle, at which point Kiku had promptly locked himself in the bathroom and refused to come out until Yao had assured him that the offending creature was a) not a cockroach, and b) dead.

He himself didn’t mind too much. At least there weren’t any stinkbugs. Or mosquitoes. Or bears, as Kiku had informed him they’d had in Sapporo one year.

“There.” At last satisfied, Kiku sank down onto the steps with a sigh. Yao looked from him to the cupboard and then back again. If there was ever a time to use the term ‘pyrrhic victory’, this was it. “Done.”

“You certainly look it.” Yao handed him one of the glasses. He was sweating. “Busy?”

“Don’t get me started. I haven’t stopped since we got up this morning. It’s been manic.”

“Why don’t you take it easy for a bit now? There can’t be that much left to do, surely.”

Kiku mumbled something non-committal and rubbed his forehead wearily. “Anyway, how was work?”

“Not too bad, actually, by A&E standards. Plus I got to help stop someone bleeding out of their anterior tibial artery, so that was fun.”

“Do all doctors have a weird definition of the word ‘fun’, or is it just you?”

“Oh, it’s definitely all of us. We wouldn’t be able to get through med school otherwise.”

Kiku shook his head in amusement and took a long drink of the tea. Yao decided not to put the rest away after all.

“Anyway, I’m looking forward to having some time off,” he said, “even if we are going to spend it surrounded by boxes.”

Kiku set the empty glass down on the counter. “Speaking of which, you’ve still got to pack your stuff.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said as Kiku moved to take the jug from him. “I’m going to—hang on a minute. Are those mine?”

“Are what yours?”

“The boxers.”

Kiku thought about this for a moment and then said, very unconvincingly: “no.”

Yao raised his eyebrows pointedly. Kiku shifted from foot to foot.

“Alright,” Yao said. “I’ll believe you, just this once.”

“That’s very benevolent of you.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, I suppose I should go and pack.”

“That might be a good idea.”

“Why don’t you call it a day soon?”

“I will when I’ve finished in here.”

“Good. Take it easy, okay?”

Yao left him in the kitchen and made his way to the bedroom, taking the other glass of iced tea with him. It felt strangely empty now, with the bookshelves clear and their nightstands bare. The pictures on the dresser were gone, taken down by Kiku earlier that day. A suitcase and some boxes were sitting on the bed, ready for him to start packing. He looked around and sighed. Where was he even meant to start? Part of him still couldn’t believe they only had a few more nights left to go.

Not that he wasn’t looking forward to it. The new house was nice. And he had to admit, he couldn’t wait to be living somewhere that actually had some space (as opposed to a tiny one-bedroom flat with a kitchen the size of a snow globe and a bathroom smaller than that). It just felt so sudden, that was all.

Then again, maybe that was to be expected. They’d lived here for almost four years, after all, and work had been so busy that he hadn’t had a day off in weeks, even though he worked shifts and was sure he was meant to have had at least five. He supposed it couldn’t be helped. It really was busy. And until the general public stopped playing around with garden strimmers and slicing their legs open for fun, it always would be. It was just frustrating that it was like this now, when they were in the middle of moving, because it meant that he’d had to leave most of the packing to Kiku.

That was the worst part, really, he thought as he set his drink down and began emptying the contents of one of his bedside drawers onto the bed. He’d wanted to help. After all, he’d always imagined that moving would be something fun, something they could do together.

This, of course, could not have been further from the truth. As if going through everything they had ever owned wasn’t bad enough, they had also managed to prematurely pack most of the things they actually needed to survive, like the saucepans, for example, or the clean towels, or the spare fan they (read: Kiku) had been using so they didn’t have to lug the big one around with them wherever they went.

Oh well. At least they hadn’t packed the rice cooker. After all, no rice cooker and no saucepans meant only one thing: _microwave rice._ And quite frankly, the day he bought _that_ was the day he would be compelled by conscience to renounce his Chinese citizenship and consider himself stateless.

Something fell off the bed and landed on his foot. A box of condoms. He stopped to pick it up. It was still in the wrapper, which was strange, because he didn’t remember buying anything recently and it wasn’t like they hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to use them. He checked the date on the back and pulled a face. 23/09/2016. _Yikes._

He threw them in the bin and looked down at the mess he’d created on the bed. Perhaps he ought to start on his clothes instead. They were going to take the longest, after all, and at least that way he could try to save a bit of space by putting some of his socks into his shoes.

Speaking of shoes, where was his other formal pair? Including the pair he’d worn at their wedding, he had two: one black, one brown. He reached into the bottom of the wardrobe, groping blindly for the missing footwear until he came across something squarish and distinctly cardboard. A shoebox. Aha.

It was dustier than he had thought it would be, even though he hardly ever wore formal shoes if he could help it. Maybe all the sorting out had got to it. He brushed it off and made to move it onto the bed. As he picked it up, however, the contents inside shifted, as though two smaller, heavier things had been balanced on something lighter and more unsteady. He stopped. That didn’t sound like shoes.

Curious, he opened the box. Inside, on top of a large, bright red envelope, was a strange assortment of unfamiliar odds and ends, and, under it, what looked like a pile of smaller envelopes, plain white and, as far as he could tell, unmarked. Huh. He’d never seen this before.

“Kiku,” he called, picking up the small rectangle of green paper in the middle. It was a cinema ticket. “Is this yours?”

There was no answer. Intrigued, he tucked the ticket into his back pocket and went back into the living room. Kiku was fast asleep in front of the fan, one hand holding the mostly full glass of iced tea, the other attempting to turn the throw into a blanket. Gently, so as not to wake him, Yao steadied the glass and prised it from his fingers. He was about to put it on the table when Kiku stirred.

“Did I fall asleep?” he mumbled.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“That’s okay.”

“You know you’re still wearing the rubber gloves.”

Kiku looked down at his hands. “Oh,” he said. It took Yao a moment to realise that he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

“Never mind. Go back to sleep.”

Kiku snuggled down under the throw and closed his eyes. “That sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, Yao.”

Yao turned the fan down a level to stop him getting too cold and left as quietly as he could. He realised as he went that he hadn’t got to ask about the ticket, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. He could ask about it later, when Kiku was awake. For now, he would carry on packing.

But back in their bedroom, his curiosity got the better of him. Why would Kiku keep something like a cinema ticket? What would be the point of that? He looked at it again more closely. It was dated 05/07/2013, for the film _Now You See Me._ He shook his head. How strange.

What else was in the box? Maybe the other objects could shed some light on what all this was about. Including the cinema ticket and the larger envelope, there were eight things on top: another slip of paper, yellowing slightly around the edges and folded neatly in half; a toy dog with an oddly serious expression; two black stones, round and flat and smooth; a Naruto headband; and, last but not least, the wrapper from a tube of Rolos.

“Kiku, what the _fuck._ ”

Some of the items, like the dog and the envelope—and, oddly enough, the Naruto headband—Yao vaguely recognised. The rest were a mystery. He unfolded the other piece of paper and frowned. It was a receipt for a Thai restaurant in London, the date 13/12/2013 written in the corner in Kiku’s small, tidy handwriting. This was even stranger than the ticket. He knew Kiku was particularly meticulous when it came to finances, but keeping a receipt from five years ago? That was unheard of, even for him. Besides, this wasn’t a box for financial records, but rather memories and sentimental things—that much was obvious. But what significance could an old receipt have? It just didn’t seem like something anyone would want.

And on that note, what on earth was up with the Rolo wrapper? There was nothing special about that, surely.

He spied the red envelope out of the corner of his eye and hesitated. He knew it was wrong. These were Kiku’s things, not his. But he just had to know what they were.

The envelope was addressed to Kiku’s old flat, the one he’d shared with his weird British flatmate, Arthur, before they’d moved in together. A collection of stamps in the corner showed it as having come from overseas. The handwriting was his own. He stopped. Was this what he thought it was?

Inside was a greetings card. It was red and gold, with an embossed, flowery pattern in the shape of the character for good luck. Now this he recognised. It was the card he’d sent Kiku when he’d gone back home in 2015, a two-week-long trip for both his grandfather’s 80th birthday and Chinese New Year.

 _Kiku, Happy Spring Festival!_ he’d written, even more sloppily than usual. _And happy belated birthday, too. I hope you’re well._

_I wanted to get you a postcard, but my hometown is actually really small, so there’s nothing famous or nice to take a photograph of (although, by ‘small’ I don’t mean British-small or Japanese-small, but rather Chinese-small, which is actually still quite big). And I didn’t think you’d appreciate a picture of housing complexes or the train station. Not to mention half the shops are shut. So I’m afraid this will have to do._

_It’s been good seeing my family. It felt like ages since I’d last seen them, so getting to catch up was really nice. And we’ve eaten so much food; honestly, you would not believe it. But then again, that’s the whole point of Spring Festival! Food and family and more food._

_It’s a bit strange without you here, though. I’d say “wish you were here” except you’d probably die of starvation, because all the food my family makes is spicier than our love life._

_Also, sorry if you can’t read this: I’m writing it in the dark. I said to my parents I was thinking about sending a card back home and now they won’t stop asking me what my girlfriend is like and when they’re going to get to meet her._

_Yours,_

_Yao_

He smiled. It was a bit stupid, he couldn’t deny it, but he was more pleased than he had thought he would be to find that Kiku had kept it all this time.

Things Kiku had kept. _Of course._

He looked again at the items laid out in front of him, the memories flooding back.

The dog—that was from a few years back; he’d won it for Kiku on the crane game at the arcade. Kiku had been embarrassed but pleased, and the little dog had sat proudly on his nightstand for months before mysteriously vanishing sometime shortly after they’d moved in together. He couldn’t remember what Kiku had called it. Pochi? Hayabusa? Something like that.

And the Naruto headband—how could he have forgotten? He’d bought it for Kiku as a joke (and also partly because it had allowed his order to qualify for free delivery). Something about the way Kiku hadn’t really known what to do with it had been so funny that he couldn’t help but laugh, which in turn had made _Kiku_ laugh, and that had made _him_ laugh even more. They’d finally got over it only for Kiku to _put it on,_ upon which they’d laughed so long and so hard that Kiku had ended up with stomach cramps and Yao had cried.

It was finally starting to make sense. This wasn’t just a collection of random odds and ends. Everything in the box represented the time they’d spent together, the times he’d made Kiku happy.

The times _he’d_ made Kiku happy.

He grinned.

That would explain the pebbles, too. Obviously he couldn’t say for certain, but now that he’d worked out what the box was all about, he had a fairly good idea as to where Kiku had got them.

A couple of years ago, they’d booked a last-minute holiday, eager to get away from work and the hustle and bustle of the city. It wasn’t much, just a week or so down to the sea, but it had still been fun, even though it had rained most of the time and one day they’d spent half the morning looking for Exeter Cathedral before realising they’d got confused and gone to Exmouth instead.

They’d done a lot that week, but the best thing of all had been the evening before they’d been due to come home, when they’d decided to take an impromptu detour and go to the beach. The place they’d ended up at was called Fishcombe Cove, a quiet stretch of shingle at the end of a steep, gravelly hill. Yao vaguely remembered being amazed. He hadn’t known at that point that beaches could be made out of _rocks._ Kiku, who’d lived not two hours away from such a beach in Sapporo, had found this incredibly amusing, but had indulged him nonetheless and taught him how to skim stones. They’d stayed there all evening, watching the sea and talking until the tide had come in and made them run painfully and clumsily up the beach, laughing as they went.

It hadn’t been expensive or fancy or exciting, but it hadn’t needed to be. It had just been _nice,_ a world away from all their usual troubles and cares.

“How do you feel about coming back next year?” Kiku had said as they made their careful way back up the hill to the car. The back of his index finger brushed against Yao’s own. “Or would you rather go somewhere else instead?”

There had been other examples before that, of course, but that one in particular had stood out as being the moment he’d realised that Kiku was just as invested in their long-term future as he was, even if he rarely said it.

And that had made him think.

“What do you think about getting married?” he’d said later that night as they settled into bed.

Kiku didn’t seem too taken aback, but Yao noticed him hesitate ever so slightly before turning over to face him. “Is that your idea of a proposal?”

“No. Just wondering what you think, that’s all.”

Kiku considered this for a moment. “I think we’d have to save up a bit first.”

It was a very practical, Kiku-like answer, to be sure, but the use of “we” had made him unreasonably happy. Not long after, under the pretence of having to stay late at work (which happened so often that Kiku hadn’t bothered to question it), he’d snuck into town and secretly ordered a pair of matching rings, hoping they would arrive before his credit card bill did and Kiku could ask where £600 of his salary had gone.

But once he’d collected them from the shop, he’d realised: he had absolutely no idea how he ought to propose. Getting down on one knee didn’t really seem like his—or Kiku’s—thing, so in the end he’d decided that instead of actually asking Kiku directly, he’d just leave him to find the box and then they could take things from there.

This had turned out to be a mistake, because apparently he could leave anything lying around and as long as Kiku believed it was his, he wouldn’t touch it, no matter how suspicious it was. Which was nice, but had also led to him spending a very anxious afternoon trying (and failing) to get Kiku to realise he was being proposed to. He’d put the box in the most obvious places he could think of: next to the tea, in the fridge, under the newspaper—in the end he’d put it right next to Kiku’s toothbrush, reasoning that if his then-almost-fiancé hadn’t seen it there then he would have had to personally refer him to ophthalmology, because he had clearly sustained damage to the retinal nerve or cornea and was now partially blind.

“This is all very nice,” Kiku had said after Yao had decided to give up and open the box himself. “But I don’t know why you’re asking me again. I’ve already said yes.”

That had been fifteen months ago. Yao sat back on the bed to play with the ring on his finger and smiled. How Kiku had smuggled the stones back without him noticing, he didn’t know. But he was glad he had. They were nice mementoes.

What about the ticket, then? Judging by the date and the fact that Kiku had kept it, it must have been for the first film they’d ever been to see together. He searched the title on his phone. He remembered it now; it was the one with all the magicians. It had been quite good, actually, although he couldn’t remember much of it, probably because he’d been more interested in watching Kiku watch it than he had been in watching it himself.

That just left the receipt and the Rolo wrapper, the oddest and seemingly most illogical items of Kiku’s collection. He decided to start with the receipt. The date on it made him think it was from the time they’d been to see the lights in the run-up to Christmas—not that either of them particularly celebrated it; it had just been something nice to do—but that made even less sense. Why keep a receipt from a Thai restaurant to commemorate that?

No, it had to mean something else. He just couldn’t work out what.

He made to return it to the bed and stopped. It had just occurred to him that he didn’t recognise the card number. It definitely wasn’t his, and although most of the numbers were similar, it didn’t look exactly like Kiku’s, either. Then realised: of course it didn’t; the receipt was from five years ago. Kiku’s card number had been changed when he’d upgraded his student account to a standard one.

So Kiku had kept the receipt from a meal he’d paid for. Only one thing remained: why?

He placed a couple of pairs of shorts into the suitcase and tried to remember. He could see the restaurant now: a busy and slightly too small building with wooden tables that were too high and wooden chairs that were too low. Something had happened while they were there, something the waiter had said. That was it: “took you two a long time to decide who’s paying.”

Of course! He remembered it now: they’d had—not an argument; it had been far too controlled to be called an argument—a _discussion_ about who would be paying. Up until then, unless it was for something relatively inexpensive, and despite Kiku’s many attempts to convince him otherwise, he’d always insisted on it, perhaps out of pride, perhaps because he’d felt like he had something to prove. Maybe he had just liked the feeling of taking care of Kiku.

That night, though, Kiku was having none of it. “I may prefer to bottom,” he’d whispered adamantly, blushing furiously and glaring at him like it was his fault he was having to be so explicit in public, “but I am _not_ taking this one lying down.”

Well. That had certainly told him. He hadn’t known Kiku could be so firm (though in all fairness, he didn’t think Kiku had known that either). And so, for the first time since they’d started going out, he had watched, defeated, as Kiku proudly paid the entire bill. He wouldn’t even let him give him any money towards the drinks.

It had stung a bit at the time, but Kiku had seemed happier after that, and that was all he had needed to move on and forget about the whole thing.

Finally, there was the Rolo wrapper. Yao shook his head. He couldn’t even tell if Kiku had kept it on purpose or if he’d just got hungry and left the wrapper in the box by accident.

No, that was unlikely. The only thing Kiku hated more than mess was mess where it didn’t belong (and overcooked vegetables, but that was a different kettle of fish). Which meant that the wrapper had to mean something.

Yao reached across the bed for his phone. This one was beyond him. Maybe the internet would have some clues. He pulled up the browser and typed in his question, reading each word aloud as he did so: “is… there… anything… special… about… Rolos?”

He loaded up the Wikipedia page and scanned the first few lines of text. They had a special shape, were first made in 1937, and had once had the advertising slogan ‘do you love anyone enough to give them your last Rolo?’

Oh god, he remembered now. They’d heard it on the TV while they’d had a packet and he, the cheesy idiot, had very casually said “yep” and handed the last one to Kiku.

God. He couldn’t tell who was more stupid: him for having given Kiku the Rolo in the first place, or Kiku for having kept the wrapper. Still, it was cute, in an utterly ridiculous, completely over-the-top kind of way.

He pulled a selection of t-shirts out of his wardrobe and tried to decide which ones Kiku would be least likely to steal over the coming few days. It was a bit strange, really, looking back over all the years they’d spent together. And he had to admit, he was actually quite surprised to find that Kiku even had something like this in the first place. Odd as it sounded, considering they were married, but Kiku had never really struck him as the sentimental type, or at least, not so sentimental as to keep a box of keepsakes hidden away.

And what about all the letters? Who were they from? He’d never sent Kiku any. He picked one up to study it closer. The back, the side facing him, had nothing on it, and on the front, in the lower-left corner, Kiku had simply written the number (1), along with the date, 31/07/2014. Other than that, however, there were no discernible marks or features. The envelope was in practically perfect condition. Even the strip of glue looked untouched.

A little thrill ran through him as he realised that the strip of glue didn’t just look untouched; it _was_ untouched. Kiku hadn’t been receiving letters. He had been writing them.

Yao hesitated and opened the flap. He just wanted to see to whom it was addressed. He wasn’t going to read it.

 _Dear Yao,_ it began.

He stopped, surprised despite himself.

_It’s been so humid lately, hasn’t it? It feels like each day is hotter than the last. And the nights have been dreadful. I hope it cools down soon. I’d like to be able to sleep again._

_Anyway. I realise this is strange, me writing to you like this. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry._

He tore his eyes away. Hadn’t he just told himself that he _wasn’t_ going to read it?

He stared at the letter for only a second before picking it up again. He had to know. What had Kiku been going to apologise for? What had he been going to say?

Letter in hand, he crept to the door and peeked into the living room. He could just see Kiku, still fast asleep on the sofa, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach. Yao didn’t know how he’d managed it, but he had somehow found the oven gloves from one of their many IKEA bags and was now using them as a pillow.

Good. He pushed the door to and started to read once more.

_Please don’t be startled._

He snorted. It was a bit late for that now, wasn’t it?

_You see, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you._

“That’s not helping, Kiku.”

_It’s nothing bad; in fact, I’m fairly certain it’s something you’ve wanted to hear me say for a while. You haven’t said anything, but I can tell that it’s bothering you, because every time you say something similar or there’s an opportunity for me to say it, you get that look on your face, the one that says you’re hoping that this time, maybe this time, I’ll tell you that I love you._

_Well, not necessarily “I love you”, but something nice, you know. Something romantic. Something like—what is it you always say?—“spending a lifetime with you doesn’t sound too bad”._

_The problem is that I can’t say it._

_I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s just something you don’t do in Japan, except maybe at your wedding or on your deathbed. Certainly not when you’re getting dressed in the morning or after you’ve just cracked the eggs you bought for dinner into the sink because your brain stopped working._

_So I wondered if writing it down would perhaps be easier. It turns out it’s not. The amount of times I’ve tried to start this is proof of that._

_I have tried, you know, to say it. I’ve been trying since you first said it to me, a whole month and a half ago. I’m just not very good at things like that. Sometimes I work up the courage, and then bottle out at the last minute. Sometimes it turns into something else, equally as nice, but not quite the type of thing you want to hear. How is it that three small words can hold so much weight? How can they be so hard to say?_

_This is ~~a bit~~ really embarrassing, but I’ve been practising saying them aloud in the mirror, though only when you’re not around. I always lie to myself and say that the next time I see you, I’ll be able to say them to you, face to face. But I never can._

_Instead, I’ve been trying to say them as loudly as possible, the only ways I know how. By making your favourite food for you because you’ve had a bad day and I want to cheer you up, even if it’s only a little bit. By staying up late to text you when you’re on the night shift, even if I have to get up early the next day. By watching Hello Kitty back to back with you, even though Gudetama is clearly better._

_I wish this wasn’t so hard for me. I mean, you’re nice about it. You get it. And not once have you tried to put pressure on me. But still, I wish I could give you what you need._

_I’ll keep trying. Please bear with me a little while longer._

He winced. One of the things he’d struggled with the most, earlier on in their relationship at least, had been the way it seemed like Kiku was never going to tell him how he felt about him. At first, he’d tried to convince himself that he didn’t mind, that he should have expected it, and that as long as Kiku was trying to express it in other ways, he would be satisfied. But after a while, doubt had set in, and although he had certainly never intended to put Kiku under pressure, he had needed the reassurance more than he had realised.

Still, reading the letter, he couldn’t help but feel bad. Even though he hadn’t found it at all easy, Kiku really had tried hard—perhaps harder than he’d realised at the time—and the thought that he’d potentially glossed over this or taken it for granted made him feel more than a little guilty. “Sorry, Kiku.”

He looked in the box and counted the remaining envelopes. There were nine left. He checked his phone for the time. How long had Kiku been asleep? Twenty minutes, maybe? Half an hour at the most, surely. He frowned. It was unusual for Kiku to nap for any longer than that.

Unusual, but not unheard of. And he had been very tired.

Deciding to listen very closely for any sign that his husband might be awake, Yao opened the second letter.

 _Dear Yao,_ it read.

_Autumn is finally here. The wind is getting cooler now, thank goodness, and already the leaves have started to fall._

_But more importantly than that—I did it: I finally told you that I love you. I wish I could have seen your face. It was easier to say it when you weren’t looking at me, see, so I told you while you were brushing your teeth instead. Looking back, this may not have been such a good idea. I think you inhaled the toothpaste._

He remembered that. He’d been so caught off guard that he had ended up choking and being vaguely concerned that Kiku didn’t know how to do CPR.

“Isn’t it good,” he remembered saying as Kiku stood over him and gently patted his back, “to know that your partner can resuscitate you if you ever decide to stop breathing? What am I going to say to all my colleagues when my cause of death is listed as Colgate?”

“I’m not a doctor, so I might be wrong,” Kiku said as he handed him a glass of water, “but I don’t think that’s how dying works.”

_Saying it was in many ways just as hard as I expected it to be. How to say it, when to say it—I had never considered any of that before. I had never needed to. And I wanted to get it right. It was just hard to do that when I didn’t know how._

_(Maybe I was just putting myself under too much pressure. You do always say I try too hard)._

_In some ways, though, it was actually not too bad. Perhaps because it was you I was saying it to, or perhaps because I knew it would make you happy, but once I decided to just say it, everything seemed to fall into place. And seeing your face afterwards—well, that made it all worth it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before._

_It’s still not something I can say easily. It’s not that I don’t mean it. On the contrary, it’s because I mean it that I find it so hard to say._

_Maybe it will become easier as time goes by. But thinking about it, I don’t want that. I don’t want it to be easy. It won’t mean as much if it does._

He squinted at the last line and tried not to laugh. Kiku, ever the romantic, had initially ended the letter with ‘Love, Kiku’, but at some point had evidently decided that that was too much, because the word ‘love’ had been scribbled out and replaced with the far less charming ‘see you later’.

That just about summed it up, really. Kiku’s style of writing wasn’t exactly going to win any hearts (except his, of course, but then that had been won long ago). In some ways, though, that actually made it better, more real. The letters weren’t overblown assertions of passion or grandiose declarations of love everlasting. They were simply Kiku, plain and unromantic, but straightforward and honest, in a quiet kind of way. And to him, nothing could have been better.

He checked the date on the back of the third envelope and stopped. 16/02/2015. That was from when he’d been in China, or at least, it looked like it. He hesitated. Kiku had never actively said how he’d felt about him going away. Even when he’d got back, Kiku hadn’t wanted to say anything, preferring to answer his questions of “did you miss me?” and “are you glad to have me back?” with non-answers such as “things have been okay” or “it’s certainly been rather quiet”.

It was something he had never understood. Even at the time, it had been obvious that Kiku had missed him. So why not just simply say it outright?

He opened the letter and started to read.

_Dear Yao,_

_It’s been raining non-stop for the past week. The evenings are long and the mornings are dark. Do you think spring will come soon?_

_It feels like ages ago that I dropped you off at the airport, even though in reality it’s only been a week. It was a strange feeling, seeing you turn around and walk away as I waved goodbye. I didn’t like it much. I kept wishing you’d turn around and smile just one more time, and just one more time after that, and then just one more time after that…_

_The drive back was quiet. The whole week has been, really. I’ve done things, of course, and it’s not like I’ve been on my own (Arthur and Francis have been keeping me very entertained), but still, it’s not quite the same as having you there next to me, chatting about medical things I don’t understand or trying for the 38 th time to describe to me the difference between a catheter and a cannula. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss that. I miss you._

_Sorry. I know it’s your first time going home in years. I know you miss your family. I should be happy for you—and I am, really. You needed to go, and I wouldn’t have wanted you to stay just because of me._

_Besides, I know it’s only for a little while. And it’s not like we haven’t spoken. You phoned me on Monday, when you got there, and on Thursday, too, before you went to bed and while I was on lunch. And you’ve sent me lots of pictures._

_But still, none of that stops me from wishing you were here._

_It’s strange. I never really got lonely as a kid, even though a lot of the time my parents were either out or working late. But now that you’re not here, I suddenly feel it. Everything seems so different. Even the nights seem colder than they used to._

_I can’t wait for you to come home._

_Not that I can ever tell you that. Thinking it is bad enough. Saying it would be too selfish._

_Whenever we talk, you always ask me how I’m doing, whether things are going okay. I think deep down you must know how I’m feeling, that I miss you. I don’t know if it’s something you want to hear me say, like “I love you” was, but I just can’t. You deserve better than that. And I’d rather let you down than make you feel guilty._

_I’ve been keeping an eye on your post for you like you asked me to. You have a letter from the bank._

He set the letter down next to him and sat back against the wall. Some part of him was angry. Another part of him wasn’t surprised. Maybe, deep down, he _had_ known how Kiku was feeling. And that made it worse. He’d known, or at the least suspected, and he’d let Kiku carry on worrying all the same.

Damn it. He should have said something. He should have tried to help him open up. That way he could have reassured him, told him that he wasn’t in the wrong, that missing him didn’t make him selfish. Instead he’d just assumed that it was simply one of those things, and that if Kiku had wanted to talk about it, he would.

Maybe there was a way for him to bring it up. He couldn’t directly, of course, not least because that would reveal he’d been snooping through his own love letters, but if he could just find a pretext… They’d moved in together shortly after he’d got back, so maybe he could use that, and say that unpacking now reminded him of unpacking then. It wasn’t brilliant, and he half-expected Kiku to see right through it, but it was something. He owed Kiku that much at least.

He put the letter back in its envelope and sighed. He didn’t regret reading it, but it did make him wonder. Were the rest of the letters going to be as sad as this? He would still read them if they were, of course, but he wanted Kiku to remember happy things, too.

The next envelope felt different. The contents were stronger and more flexible, like card instead of paper. Inside were two photographs, one of Kiku sitting cross-legged in a suitcase, looking perfectly at home as he smiled up at the camera, and one of himself asleep on the sofa, completely covered in empty cardboard boxes. The only evidence of Kiku having been involved was the thumbs-up in the bottom right-hand corner.

Now this was more like it. This was the type of thing he wanted to see. These were from the day they’d moved in together. It was ironic, he thought: now that they were moving out, it was almost as if the situations were reversed.

A thought occurred to him. With great difficulty, he clambered into the suitcase and sat awkwardly down. Really, how had Kiku managed this? Was he seriously so small that this could actually be considered comfortable? Yao shifted so he could straighten his ankle and felt around for whatever it was that was poking him in the leg. A fifty pence piece. Nice. He tucked it into his pocket and reached across the bed for his phone.

The picture wasn’t exactly great (his hair was messy and there were dark circles under his eyes), but it was undeniably similar to the one in the box. Now all he had to do was take one of Kiku. He peeked around the door. There was no noise except the hum of the fan, and he could just see Kiku’s foot dangling off the edge of the sofa. _Excellent._

He crept into the living room. Kiku was still asleep, one hand curled loosely around a fork. Yao briefly considered covering him with some of the many boxes they’d stacked next to the TV stand, but thought better of it. Even if they weren’t full to the brim with their belongings, he knew from experience that Kiku was an even lighter sleeper than the neighbours’ three-month-old baby, and the last thing he wanted was for him to wake up, especially now, when he still had more letters to read. No, this would have to do. 

But just as he was about to take the photo, his phone slipped. It flew out of his hands, clipped the edge of the coffee table, and clattered heavily onto the floor.

His heart stopped. Alright, that wasn’t strictly true, because he was a medical professional and knew that if it had, making too much noise would be the last of his worries, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel like it.

He glanced at the sofa. Had he woken Kiku? What was he going to say to him if he had? Would Kiku realise he had found the letters?

But nothing happened. Yao breathed a sigh of relief and stooped to retrieve his phone from the floor.

“Yao?”

“Shit, Kiku, you scared the living daylights out of me!”

“Mmmh. その音、何？”

“Come on, Kiku, nobody reading this can understand that.”

Kiku gave another sleepy murmur of protest and buried his face in the oven gloves. “What was that noise?”

“I, uh, dropped my phone.”

“Oh.”

He wasn’t convinced, Yao could tell. “You looked cute. I was going to take a picture.”

Kiku stared at him levelly. 

Perhaps wisely, Yao said nothing.

“I’m going to—” he yawned and curled in on himself before stretching out his arms. “—go back to sleep. Wake me up when you’re hungry, okay?”

Yao picked up his phone.

“And don’t take a picture.”

Defeated, he returned to their bedroom. He would have to try again later. For now, there were letters to read.

 _Dear Yao,_ the fifth began.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s certainly not something I’ve ever done before. I don’t think I ever really even thought about this kind of thing before I met you. Not much, anyway._

Yao shuffled forward and brought the letter closer to his face. This looked interesting.

_You see, I can’t count the number of times I’ve imagined you just—_

He read the remainder of the (rather explicit) account of exactly what Kiku wanted him to do to him with wide eyes. _Well._ He was definitely going to have to try _that_ later.

Or he would have, if only Kiku hadn’t pre-empted this exact scenario: _But I know the only way you’ll ever know about this is if you find this letter,_ he’d written, _because there Is no way on this earth that I can tell you it in person._

“That’s not fair,” he said. “You’re being psychic again.” He didn’t really believe psychic powers were a thing, but Kiku definitely had them. The next time they had an evening in together he would have to think extra hard about trying it, if only so Kiku would know he was up for it and he would get to see Kiku enjoying himself. Or maybe he could coax it out of him. Surely it couldn’t be that hard.

He read the end of the letter and spluttered. _By the way,_ Kiku had put, _I found your old work pass. It was in your sock drawer._

“Kiku,” he scolded, “one of these days this mood whiplash is going to kill me. Aren’t you meant to be being romantic? These are _love letters,_ not post-it notes.”

The letter did not reply.

He shook his head and opened the sixth envelope. This time, instead of a letter, there was simply a series of bullet points, listed on a scrap of torn-off paper:

 _Apples and oranges,_ read the first.

Was this a shopping list? Surely not. Even _Kiku,_ who had once bought him a year’s access to a group of online medical journals for his birthday, wouldn’t consider a shopping list romantic. 

_She’s not dead,_ read the second.

He stopped. Was this—it couldn’t be—had Kiku—no, surely not—

_You were acting on the basis of another doctor’s diagnosis._

_What you did was working—what were you expected to think?_

_One of your seniors said they’d have made the same call._

He put the piece of paper down and rubbed his temples with one hand. He didn’t like thinking about this, but seeing the list gave him no choice.

Some time ago, a few years into his job in emergency medicine, a woman had come in complaining of difficulty breathing. This wasn’t sudden; it had been happening on and off for weeks. Her GP had diagnosed asthma, but this time the inhaler wasn’t working and she was scared. Yao had given her oxygen, and, as a precaution, run a CT scan on her chest. By the time the results had come through, she was feeling much better, and since the scan was clear, he’d discharged her, satisfied she was okay.

Except she wasn’t. The next day her husband had brought her back in, blue and wheezing and showing the first signs of septic shock. She hadn’t got asthma, it had turned out. She’d had gallstones.

They’d rushed her into surgery and then into intensive care, where she’d stayed for about a week before being moved onto the wards and then later discharged. As far as he was aware, she’d made a full recovery, but that hadn’t made him feel any better. Why hadn’t he spotted something sooner? If he’d done just one more test, run one more scan, he might have picked up on it. But he hadn’t.

“It could have killed her,” he’d said shakily to Kiku later that evening. “ _I_ could have killed her. She could have died because of me. What would have happened to her kids then? They were only small. One of them had just lost her first tooth.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kiku had said. “You weren’t to know that the GP had got it wrong. If you did, you’d have done everything you could have to help her.”

He’d tried to accept this, but it must have affected him more than he’d realised, because a few weeks later he’d come home after doing overtime to find that Kiku had stayed up late to wait for him.

“Yao,” he’d said, somehow managing to make it clear in one word alone that this was not a conversation he had a choice about. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he’d said, although by that point it was more of a reflex than anything else. “I’m fine.”

“Are you really?”

“I said I’m fine. Stop worrying.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

It had all come tumbling out then: how afraid he was to make another mistake; how hard he’d been working himself to make sure that he didn’t; how he was no better than the GP who’d made the initial diagnosis.

“What makes you think that?” Kiku’s voice had been measured and calm.

“Well, we both got it wrong, for a start.”

“And that makes you exactly the same?”

He’d felt like his answers were being picked apart. Eventually he’d snapped. “Leave it, Kiku. It’s not something you’d understand.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” Kiku hadn’t taken the bait. “I don’t understand how a GP who sees a patient over the course of a month and doesn’t consider that there might be something wrong with their diagnosis and an A&E doctor who has _two minutes at most_ to assess a patient and make a call based on incorrect information are the same at all. You’re comparing two entirely different things.”

 _Apples and oranges,_ he thought.

He looked down at the list again. He’d known, deep down, that Kiku was right. He just hadn’t been ready to believe it. He’d tried, but it was only when Lisa, one of his seniors, had spoken to him that he’d finally started to cut himself some slack.

“Yao,” she’d called him into the staff room just as they’d gone off shift. “A word?”

He’d felt sick. Had he messed up again? Or was she going to reprimand him, tell him to get his act together, or else?

Instead, though, she’d been concerned. “Is everything alright?”

He’d almost laughed. Not to be rude; he just genuinely couldn’t believe it. He’d almost _killed someone._ What right did he possibly have to be okay?

Lisa didn’t reply for a long time. Eventually she’d told him about one of her first few months on the job: an old lady, bedridden and in a bad way after contracting a nasty case of pneumonia, had asked her for a glass of water. Lisa had promised to get her one, but had inevitably been called away, and by the time she’d got the chance to go back and check on her, the old lady had passed away.

“It sounds stupid,” she’d said, “but for the next few months, all I could do was wonder whether that glass of water might have saved her life.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, at first I beat myself up over it,” she said in that self-depreciating jokey way all the British people he knew seemed to like using. He forced a laugh to be polite and she continued. “Kind of like you’re doing now. But then one of the registrars I worked with told me that—as sad as this sounds—it couldn’t be helped. I was one of only two doctors on shift. The nurses were all rushed off their feet too. I was constantly getting bleeps from other wards. I just…”

She took a deep breath.

“Do I wish it’d turned out differently? Of course I do. But I couldn’t keep beating myself up about it forever.”

He didn’t really know what to say. At first he’d felt a twisted sense of hope—after all, if Lisa had been through something similar, then maybe he wasn’t as terrible as he thought he was. But the more she said, the less like his her situation sounded. “If you were only one of two doctors, yeah,” he said, “but I—I just should have been more thorough.”

“You didn’t have time,” she said soothingly. “How many patients did we have waiting? More than usual, that’s for sure. Plus, the GP was the one who got it wrong. If you’re going to be working based off what they said—and why wouldn’t you—then it’s only natural that you get it wrong too.”

“Kiku—that’s my partner—said that too.”

“Well, you should listen to Kiku, because Kiku’s right,” Lisa said matter-of-factly. “I know you might not believe it now, but Yao, please think about what I’ve said. You weren’t in the wrong. It was just unlucky, that’s all.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. It might not be easy, but you’ll get there. And my door’s always open.”

He’d felt a bit better after that, and although it had taken time, between Lisa’s support and Kiku’s emotional warfare, he’d eventually been able to put it behind him and move on.

Yao looked down at the scrap of paper, and without thinking, left the box and the letters and returned to the living room. Kiku was still asleep, but he kept murmuring and one of his shoulders was exposed. Yao reached over and gently tucked him back in with the throw.

Kiku stirred and stared at him blearily and, then, in an impressive display of his psychic powers, muttered something that sounded very suspiciously like ‘you’re welcome’ before closing his eyes and going straight back to sleep.

Back in their room, Yao took a long drink of the iced tea and looked at the mostly empty suitcase with a twinge of guilt. He’d managed to pack just under a third of it in the space of forty minutes. He threw in his remaining boxers to stop his thieving husband pinching any more of them and considered. That would do, surely? He’d have all the time in the world to pack tomorrow (provided he wasn’t called in like he had been the last time he’d tried to take time off). If Kiku said anything, he could just say he’d got distracted and ended up taking a nap. He just wanted to read the last few letters.

Strangely enough, though, they seemed to have been muddled up. The next one was numbered (8), despite being the seventh in the pile, and the seventh letter had been moved to the bottom. He reached for the latter and hesitated. It wasn’t like Kiku to be so careless. Even his sock drawer was organised perfectly.

He picked up the eighth envelope and checked the date. It was from 30/04/2017, the day after they’d got married.

 _Dear Yao,_ the letter began.

_It’s the middle of the morning on the day after our wedding, and the rain is torrential. I’m glad we’re not getting married today! I’ve never seen it like this here. Still, it’s not like I particularly mind. In some ways, it’s actually kind of nice. It’s calming. Soothing. It makes everything else feel far away, like it’s just you and me and the hotel room._

_You and me. Us. After all, we’re married now. I still can’t believe it. It’s strange, knowing that it’s official. Strange, but good. Right._

He grinned and looked instinctively to the pictures on his nightstand, only to remember last minute that Kiku had packed them all away. Oh well. It didn’t matter. He had all their wedding pictures on his phone anyway, in a folder he had called “heeee :)”, which was how he felt whenever he looked at them.

There were so many: one of Kiku laughing at Arthur’s terrible jokes; one of himself and Lisa and Xiaomei, a Taiwanese nurse who worked his shift and whom he practically thought of as a sister; one of him and Kiku, both of them looking very nervous but very pleased…

What was he doing? He was meant to be reading Kiku’s letters, not getting distracted by their wedding photos.

_I wish you were awake. Everything’s been so busy these last few days that it feels like we haven’t seen each other in forever. Still, I can understand why you want to sleep. We did go to bed rather late last night, and you were drunk—at least, drunk enough that as soon as we got back to the room after the reception you told me you thought I looked very handsome and proposed to me all over again._

_I said yes, naturally._

“Heeee,” he said.

_Yesterday was busy, too. Fun, but busy. We got up at silly o’clock so we could be ready for lunch—although I say “we”, but I mean “me”, because you slept through six alarms and only woke up after Xiaomei and Lisa played a recording of an ECG flatlining through the door._

“I was very tired,” he said, mock indignantly. The night before they’d travelled up to the hotel, he’d worked a 14-hour shift in which he’d helped resuscitate an old man (twice), stabilised a brain injury, patched up a teenage boy who’d had his arm sliced open by a wayward bread knife during a misguided attempt to make himself a midnight snack, helped an old lady who’d fallen down the stairs and was feeling, in her words, “a bit peaky” (it turned out that she’d had concussion and a broken hip), and finally managed to somehow stumble through the front door without collapsing. All this and more on a ten-minute break and a single satsuma.

“Come on, sleepy!” Xiaomei said as he opened the door to try and find out where the patient was and why they were dying. “It’s your wedding day!”

“Oh,” he’d said, and then: “shit.”

_Setting up was chaos. I think I must have asked Francis fifty times which way around knives and forks are meant to go, and I still got it wrong. And then after we’d finished, we had to turn the whole place over because Arthur couldn’t find the notes for his speech. It turned out they were under his placemat. He’d put them there so he wouldn’t lose them._

_Anyway, it wasn’t just that. There were all the other things, too: making sure the guests were okay, trying to explain the menu to my dad, trying to find someone other than Arthur to look after the rings…_

_But standing there with you when the ceremony started made it all worth it. I’ll never forget the way you looked at me as we said our vows._

That, it seemed, was mutual.

_Yesterday was nice. Really nice. But even so, it was only when I woke up this morning that I realised what it all meant. You’re my husband. And I’m yours._

_You know, before, I was afraid of marriage._

His smile faltered.

_Not for any particular reason. I just didn’t know what to think of it. Maybe afraid is the wrong word. It made me suspicious, I suppose._

_I mean, look at my parents, how bad their marriage was. By the end, they hated each other. All they ever did was fight._

_It wasn’t always like that, apparently. My dad told me about it. He and my mum were childhood friends. They got together at 15. Their relationship lasted all the way through university—he proposed to her on the day they graduated. But sometime after I was born—or maybe before, I don’t know—things changed. They started arguing. It got tense. I guess that’s why they started working all the time. But still, whenever they were at home together, there was always another row._

Ah. So that’s what it was. Kiku’s parents were divorced; they’d told him they were splitting up the day he finished upper school. He didn’t have much to do with his mum—Yao wasn’t even sure if she knew Kiku was married—but his relationship with his dad was better, and Kazuya had surprised them both by being unexpectedly accepting when Kiku had told him about their relationship. Maybe he’d his suspicions, maybe he just genuinely didn’t care, maybe he was just prioritising his son, but whatever the reason, Kazuya had accepted him with open arms.

_I suppose it makes sense, the way my dad explained it. My mum said to him in the end that she felt trapped, stifled. Like she needed more space than my dad and a kid could give. I think I get it. She’d only ever known him, after all._

_Sometimes I wonder how all that must have felt: the feelings you had for someone changing that much. Do you think they were upset about it, too? Or do you think in the end, they wanted it to happen?_

_I guess it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. And besides, it’s not like things have to end up that way. Being with you has shown me that. Do you remember our first fight? When your mum wanted you to order something for her online but you kept putting it off even though I reminded you about it, and I ended up doing it instead, ten minutes before the sale ended Afterwards I wouldn’t talk about what was wrong and you got angry at me. We argued and I got upset because I was so sure that that was it, that we were finished._

“Please,” Kiku said, strained but still calm. “Take some responsibility. I know you’re tired after work, but I am too.”

“It’s not like I asked you to run my life for me,” he replied, well aware that he sounded like a child. “Why are you so hell-bent on it, anyway?”

“Well, one of us has to, and you’re clearly not going to do it!”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you gave me a chance to sort stuff out, I would!”

“Give you a chance?” Kiku almost laughed. “Yao, I told you _five times_ that you needed to buy that stuff for your mum. _Five times!_ And you just sat there!”

“So, what, now I’m being lazy?”

Kiku winced. “I never said that.”

“Then what _were_ you trying to say? Go on, spit it out.”

“Is it really that hard to work out?”

He’d sounded so condescending. Damn it, he’d even _looked_ condescending, a teacher-explaining-things-to-the-dumbest-kid-in-class kind of expression on his face.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yao threw a hand in the air and turned aside. “Whatever. This is getting on my nerves.”

“It’s getting on _your_ nerves?”

“Of course it is! First you get angry at me, then you don’t tell me what’s wrong! I wish you’d just talk to me, but you never do! I’m sick of guessing! I’m sick of getting it wrong!”

Kiku hadn’t known how to react to that. “Alright,” he said eventually, nodding his head as though he was agreeing with something. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “I’ll, um, I’ll just—I’ll just go and wash up.”

“I’ll help.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said as he took the last of the bowls and plates. “I just want to be on my own.”

Yao had let him go, instead choosing to distract himself by attempting to tidy up the living room. But the longer he’d left it, the more he’d realised: Kiku was right, it wasn’t hard to order something online. It wouldn’t have taken him five minutes. He’d just wanted to unwind, that was all. It had been a long day. But that still didn’t mean he could expect Kiku to do it for him.

He knocked awkwardly at the kitchen door. “Hey.”

With some effort, Kiku stopped staring at the soapy water and turned to look at him. He looked tired. “Hey.”

“Look, I’m sorry. You were right; I was just being stupid.”

Kiku went back to staring at the sink. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Yao waited. Kiku was quiet for what felt like a long time. “It’s not over, is it?” he’d said at last.

“Is what not over?”

Kiku gestured vaguely at the dishes. “This. Us.”

Yao suppressed a laugh. “What? Of course not! Kiku, it was just a fight.”

Kiku didn’t say anything. It was only then that Yao realised he was serious.

“Hey,” he said soothingly. “It was just an argument, Kiku. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. Where did you get that from, anyway?”

Truth be told, he’d already had some idea of where it had come from. Kiku had already told him by this point that his parents were divorced, and although he’d never gone into detail, it didn’t exactly take a genius to work out that there must have been a few arguments at some point in the process. The only problem was how to get Kiku to talk about it.

“It’s not like arguing is a good thing, is it?” Kiku said.

Yao shook the excess water from one of the bowls and started to dry it off. “Well, no,” he said carefully. “But that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world, either. I mean,” he took a deep breath. “Didn’t your parents argue?”

Kiku stopped, his hands still submerged in the bubbles. “Yeah,” he said, his voice heavy and resigned. “All the time. About everything.”

“No, I mean before they realised they didn’t want to be together anymore.”

For the first time since he’d come into the kitchen, Kiku met his eyes.

“Oh,” he said.

There was a pause. “It was always about the stupidest stuff. My dad not buying the right brand of tofu. My mum taking too long in the bath, even though it was separate from the loo. The colour of the new car they were going to get. Every day there was another problem.”

Yao put the bowl on the side and picked up the next. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, growing up in that sort of environment. It sounded tense. It sounded _hard._

“When they told me they were getting divorced, I was actually kind of relieved,” Kiku said, sounding strangely calm. “Is that bad?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, even though he half-suspected Kiku wasn’t really looking for an answer.

“I hated it,” Kiku said. “Every moment of it. I hated it so much. I hated it so much that I—”

Things were all of a sudden starting to make a lot of sense.

Kiku took a steadying breath. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t be like that,” he said. “But now—” His shoulders sank.

“Kiku?”

“I just didn’t want to end up like them.”

“You won’t,” he said, reaching up to gently touch his arm. “We won’t. I mean it.”

 _But you were really good about it,_ the letter continued. _Telling me that everyone argues, that it was how you argued and what you did afterwards that mattered. And that made me think. Maybe I didn’t have to be like my parents. Maybe it was true that one fight didn’t mean we were going to end up like they did._

_Part of me still had my doubts. After all, I had never even considered that as being a possibility before. But the more I thought about it, the more I decided I wanted to try. I guess I just hadn’t anticipated how hard that would be._

Yao sat back against the wall. Kiku was right: it had been hard. But, he thought, twisting the ring on his finger, wasn’t that what part of being in a relationship was about?

He sighed. Reading the letter had reminded him of the fact that Kiku’s happiness—or a significant part of it—was dependent, at least partially, on him. He took a sip of iced tea. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It was a big responsibility. In fact, it was huge. Not that he begrudged Kiku it, of course. How could he? That was part and parcel of being married. Besides, it was a two-way street.

It was just that sometimes, he wondered exactly how much of this responsibility he had met.

_This sounds bad, but in some ways, I was afraid of things working out, of not making my parents’ mistakes. Not because I wanted to. It’s just that I really didn’t know how else to live. That was the only experience of marriage I’d ever known. And being different was a risk I didn’t know how to take. But I was even more afraid of not not making those mistakes, because that would have meant losing you. And that was something I wasn’t prepared to do._

_I suppose what I’m trying to say is that after a while I realised: none of what happened to my parents applies to us. We’re different. I can talk to you. You listen—without getting hysterical—about what’s bothering me. And you don’t shout or interrupt or accuse. You’re patient. You’re calm. You’re fair. And if we do fight, it’s okay, because I know we’ll talk things through the next day. We give each other a chance. I’m grateful for that._

_Yao, thank you._

He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he wasn’t doing too bad a job after all. No, they didn’t have their own house. Even the one they were moving to on Saturday, they were going to spend the next twenty or thirty years paying for. Their car was an old Nissan Micra Kiku had bought seven years ago on the cheap. They hadn’t been on a proper holiday in two years. All the things he’d once considered to be markers of success, they could hardly say they’d met.

But Kiku was happy. And that was enough.

He set the letter down beside him and looked up at the ceiling, his hands clasped in his lap, trying to let that sink in.

A motorbike drove past and he stopped. Really, what was he doing, getting caught up in all this? He still had three more letters to read, and Kiku wasn’t going to be asleep for much longer.

The next one, thankfully, was shorter. The paper was wrinkled and stiff, like at some point in time it had got wet. He flattened it as best he could and started to read.

_Dear Yao,_

_December is finally here. The autumn rains are over and the last few mornings have been clear and bright. Winter is great when it’s like this, isn’t it?_

_It snowed today. You threw a snowball at my butt and that was it, war was declared. It was unfair because you were wearing that stupid down jacket (you know the one; the one that makes you look like the Michelin man but red) and I couldn’t get you back. In the end I told you to take it off, so you did, but then I got worried that you would catch a cold and told you to put it back on, so you did._

_Please don’t ever change._

_And please don’t actually get sick. Do you remember last year, when you got the flu before you had time to go and get the jab? You kept insisting that you were well enough to go to work even though it took you half an hour to decide you were going to get out of bed and then another half an hour to actually do it, and I had to convince you—_

“Convince me? You _tricked_ me!”

_\--to take the day off sick._

“Yao, you work in a hospital,” Kiku had said. “You can’t go in. You’ll make people ill.”

“They’re already ill.”

“ _More_ ill, then. Anyway, you’re not going in.”

“Yes I am.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“You are _not_. Don’t make me call in sick for you.”

That had sounded tempting. _Very_ tempting. “You don’t know the number.”

“Everyone knows the number, silly. It’s 999.”

The little spark of panic that flowed through him was the most energy he’d had all day. “Kiku! You _can’t_ call 999 just to tell them I’m not going in! The ambulance—”

“So you admit it, then? You’re not going in?”

He groaned and slumped back down onto the bed. It wasn’t _fair._ Kiku always managed to outsmart him.

 _It was dreadful,_ the letter continued. _Now I know why they say doctors are the worst patients._

_Anyway. I don’t really know why I’m writing this. I don’t really have anything I particularly want to say. Just thanks, I guess. For today.”_

He smiled. He liked this letter. It wasn’t very long and it didn’t really say much, but in some ways that was actually kind of nice. Most of the other letters had been fairly serious, and it was nice to read something where for once Kiku hadn’t written to him because he had something he wanted to say, but rather because he had wanted to say anything at all.

He looked at the remaining letters and peeked around the door. Kiku had somehow rolled off the sofa and was now asleep on the floor.

Good. He still had time. He tried not to curse as he stepped on a stray pen he’d inadvertently stolen from the hospital and settled back down onto the bed.

This time, there were two pieces of paper: a letter, and, much like the sixth envelope, a series of notes. He decided to start with the latter. The context might be useful.

Or it would have been, if only Kiku hadn’t taken it upon himself to write his notes in Japanese. Yao groaned. “Kiku, you know I can’t read Japanese,” he complained. “That’s _cruelty._ ”

He never knew how to feel about Japanese. It sounded cute, sure, but trying to read it was a nightmare. Not only did it have a frankly ridiculous number of alphabets to contend with (namely, two), his brain also kept tricking him into thinking he was reading Chinese, which meant that he’d frequently understand a word as meaning one thing and it’d turn out to be something completely different.

Like now, for instance. He couldn’t understand why Kiku was talking about the word “investigate” until he searched it in a dictionary and found out that in Japanese it meant “visa”. He shook his head in disbelief. Really, what was the point of semi-adopting a language only to decide later on that you didn’t like it and were just going to change it to suit your own purposes anyway? You might as well just come up with your own.

The worst part was, though, that he always fell for it. Working out that he’d been fooled always took him ages. It was like seeing something not quite right about someone only to discover that their left hand was on their right arm and their right hand was on their left. Yao pulled a face. He hoped that had never happened to a patient before. If it had, he certainly didn’t want to meet the surgeon who’d done it. Either they had made a colossal fuck-up or they probably shouldn’t be allowed to practise.

Actually, would that even work? Replantation was possible, sure, but replantation on the other side of the body? Could the bones heal like that? Or would they—

Anyway. That didn’t matter. He was getting distracted.

 _Visa_ , read Kiku’s notes. This was followed by a series of increasingly confused bullet points:

  * _Renewing a work visa doesn’t seem possible—have to wait 12 months to get another one?_
  * _Cooling-off period doesn’t apply if you’re changing jobs?_
    * _But if you’ve been here for six years it does??_
  * _Settled status_
    * _Needs letter from employer_
    * _Costs an entire month’s salary minimum_
    * _Might have to go back to Japan while the decision is being made??_
    * _What on earth is a qualifying period_



Ah yes. Kiku’s visa.

Sometime before the New Year, the company Kiku worked for had suddenly got much busier, and he’d had to work a lot of overtime to compensate—an awful lot. So much so, in fact, that for a while, Kiku had been working longer hours than him. And that really was saying something, considering that some weeks it felt like he practically lived at work. It wasn’t just going into the office or coming home late, either. He’d started bringing work home with him. Managers kept phoning him up to see how much he’d got done. One weekend he’d worked 30 hours.

Concerned, and all too aware what it was like to be under that much pressure, Yao had suggested a day away. Nothing that required a lot of planning or travelling, just a day up to London or Bicester Village or something so they could get away from work. They could go to the shops, perhaps, or to a restaurant, or even just to the park. Whatever Kiku fancied.

“Bicester Village? We can’t afford anything in Bicester Village.”

“We don’t have to _buy_ anything, silly,” he’d said in response. “We can just, I don’t know, take a look around or something.”

Kiku met his eyes and softened. “Alright,” he said. “That sounds good.”

But not an hour before they’d been due to get in the car and go, Kiku’s phone had rung. It was one of his managers. There was a problem: one of their important new clients had brought their deadline forward, and everything now had to be finished before the end of the day, so would Kiku “mind going in to help out?”

“You can’t be serious,” Yao had protested, even as Kiku hunted for his coat. “You can’t seriously be going to work?”

But Kiku was already halfway out the door. “Sorry,” he said, looking sheepish and contrite. “I have to go.”

He’d been frustrated, of course, but it wasn’t like Kiku had _wanted_ to go into the office, and besides, there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. Heck, from the sounds of things, there wasn’t anything _Kiku_ could do about it, and it was his job in the first place.

Even so, things couldn’t carry on the way they were. That much was obvious.

To his surprise, it was Kiku who’d broached the subject first. “I guess I should explain what’s been going on,” he said over breakfast the next day.

“That might be a good idea.”

It had started the year before, Kiku had said. The company he worked for had been scheduled to be taken over—Yao remembered him receiving an email saying something along these lines—and the new management did not sound ideal. The company that had taken over was much larger, and as a result, the number of projects that Kiku and his remaining colleagues found themselves responsible for had rocketed. In spite of this, orders had been taken as usual, which meant that not only was there a massive backlog, they still had to deal with anything the company considered urgent or important (which, it seemed, was nearly everything).

But even though they were clearly struggling, the new management had announced that “for various unforeseen budgetary reasons”, they were going to have to start cutting jobs. “Many factors” had been considered in this “unfortunate process”, and it had been decided “with the greatest regret” that the first to go would be from among the company they’d just taken over, because their existing employees had already proven themselves to be “trusted and indispensable members of the team.”

Many of Kiku’s British colleagues had—quite fairly, Yao thought—simply said “fuck it” and walked away. But Kiku couldn’t do that. He was on a work visa. Quitting wouldn’t just mean losing his job.

But even if he didn’t quit, there was another problem: his visa was running out. They’d tried to think of ways he could stay, but it wasn’t looking promising. A new work visa wasn’t possible. A visitor visa wasn’t viable. The best thing for Kiku to do, they’d decided, was to try and apply for what was known as settled status. It would allow him to stay permanently, but it was notoriously difficult to get, and he’d need a whole host of supporting documents, one of which was a letter from his employer, saying that they still needed him for another year at least.

“And if you want the letter, you can’t quit.”

“Exactly.”

The whole situation was a mess. But that was the only solution they’d had. Kiku had thrown himself into the application process, which had turned out to be more complicated than open heart surgery and involved jumping through more hoops than eating a bowl of Cheerios with a single chopstick. Eventually, with his visa running out, and worried that he might jeopardise his application by staying, Kiku had decided to go back to Japan. Yao had accompanied him to the airport, feeling sick as he watched the plane taxi slowly down the runway and out of sight. They hadn’t spoken about what they would do if Kiku’s application was turned down. Talking about it meant acknowledging it as real, as a possibility.

Waiting was awful. Neither of them knew when they’d hear something and neither of them knew what they’d hear. The most they’d got for weeks was an automated email informing them that Kiku’s application was being processed and a decision would be made in due course. In the meantime, all they could do was keep their fingers crossed and hope for the best.

“Do you know my manager tried to send me some projects to do?” Kiku said during a video call in the run-up to Spring Festival. “Even though I’m on unpaid leave?”

“What did you say to that?”

“I told him to go fuck himself,” Kiku said cheerfully.

Yao snorted. “No you didn’t.”

“Alright, you’re right, I didn’t, not really; I said ‘Thanks for your email. I am currently on unpaid leave and will get back to you on my return’, but that was what I meant.”

Yao had never been so proud of him in all his life. “I really wish you could quit.”

“So do I. I’ve been job hunting, and I’ve even arranged a few interviews, but I can’t actually quit in case it mucks up my application.”

“Have you heard anything about that?”

“Not much. I got in touch with the lady in charge of my case earlier today and she said I should hear something back before the end of March.”

Yao looked at the date at the top of the letter. 15/02/2018—the day before Spring Festival, and, not so coincidentally, the day Kiku had come home. ‘Before the end of March’ indeed. Kiku really was crafty.

 _Dear Yao,_ the letter began.

_Happy Spring Festival 2018! This year it’s the Year of the Dog, and therefore not only the best animal year but hopefully also the year you realise that dogs are the absolute greatest and that we should definitely adopt at least one or two right now._

Two? Two dogs? Where had the second one come from? He’d only agreed to one, and that was only after they’d retired.

_No? Well, I suppose I can dream._

_I hope you enjoyed the first week of your break. I think you did, especially the part where I came home a whole seven weeks earlier than I said I would._

“No way,” he’d said upon opening the door to find Kiku standing there. “You’re home?”

“Hi.”

“How did you do that?”

“What, get home? By plane, mostly, and then I got a train from Heathrow to Paddington—”

“No, silly. I mean your visa, or whatever it is it’s called.” He still hadn’t stopped smiling. His cheeks were beginning to hurt. “You said you weren’t due to hear back until the end of March.”

“About that,” Kiku said, “I have a confession to make. Can I come in?”

_Sorry. I know I shouldn’t have tricked you. But I wanted to give you a nice surprise. And seeing you bounce around the kitchen because you were so happy was really cute. I’m just glad you didn’t catch on. I thought you’d realise why it was taking so long for sure._

“So you mean the embassy wasn’t closed for refurbishing?”

“Yep.”

“And they didn’t lose your application and make you start again?”

“That’s right.”

“And the last time I called you and asked if you’d heard anything and you said you’d arranged another interview for the 15th February—”

“—I’d actually booked my flights back, yes. Sorry,” he said, though he evidently wasn’t, because he was a terrible husband who had no morals and clearly felt no guilt about lying to his significant other. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You _lied_ ,” he said, trying to sound indignant and failing, largely because the stupid smile from earlier was still stuck on his face and he couldn’t stop laughing. “You _arsehole._ ”

_It’s good to be back. It was strange, being in Japan again, although I suppose that was to be expected, considering that the last time I was there I had just graduated. Being there made me remember everything I miss about it: a working public transport system, reasonably priced ramen, the Family Mart tune…_

_But at the same time, it didn’t really feel like home anymore. I’m not sure why. It might be because I didn’t actually go back to Sapporo; I just stayed in Tokyo. Or maybe it’s because I realised: everything I’ve got here in the UK wouldn’t be possible there._

Yao knew how he felt.

_Anyway, everything’s sorted out now. You’re suitably surprised and I’m back home. And soon, I start my new job._

_I’m a little bit nervous. After all, I’ve only ever had one new job before, and that’s the one I’m leaving. But still, I know it’s for the best. I’m looking forward to getting back to normality._

_Thanks, by the way. For encouraging me to quit. I know you keep saying I don’t need your approval—I don’t feel like I do—but on the same score, I don’t think I would have been able to do it if you hadn’t suggested it. I had thought about it, sure. I’m just not very good at taking risks. So hearing you say to go for it was reassuring, almost._

_I don’t know. It’s just nice to have someone who believes in me, I guess._

_I’ll give you a blowjob if you let me get a dog._

Yao choked on his sip of iced tea. He had forgotten just how blunt Kiku could be if he wanted to. And all so he could get a dog, of all things. What was so great about dogs, anyway? Yao didn’t get it.

Now that he stopped to think about it, though, the deal did sound pretty tempting. They’d both get something they wanted and—no, wait, what was he thinking? The letter had been written in February. It was now July.

“Kiku,” he said to the letter, “Kiku, the point of negotiating is to _withhold_ the thing the other person wants, not just, I don’t know—”

“Hang on,” Kiku called. “I can’t hear you.”

_Shit. Shit shit shit—_

Yao shot to his feet and scrambled to block the door. Kiku, who was now most definitely _not_ asleep, blinked, taken aback.

“Hello,” Yao said, in what he hoped was a tone that made him sound like he’d been pleasantly surprised and not caught red-handed. “I didn’t hear you get up. How was your nap?”

Kiku stifled a yawn. “I think I needed it,” he said. “I was exhausted. Anyway, what were you saying just now?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“I thought you said my name.”

“I was just talking to myself, that’s all.”

Kiku didn’t look convinced. “Can I come in?”

He glanced at the box of letters out of the corner of his eye. “Erm,” he said.

Kiku narrowed his eyes.

“It’s a mess,” he said quickly, trying to think of something that would help him dig himself out of the hole he’d just made. “A big mess.”

“Right.”

“You don’t like mess.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

A nervous laugh escaped him. Kiku wasn’t buying it. “So, uh, could you maybe give me five minutes? I’ll tidy up a bit. In the meantime,” he added, because it looked like his husband was preparing to Make A Comment, “can I be cheeky and ask you to make me a coffee? One of those nice ones where you boil the milk first? I’m kind of sleepy because of work.”

Kiku studied him suspiciously, but relented. “Alright, but don’t think I don’t know you’re up to no good.”

He laughed weakly as Kiku disappeared around the kitchen door. How long did he have? Five minutes, perhaps, or maybe ten. What was the boiling point of soy milk? If he knew that, he might be able to work out how much time he had left.

There was a clatter from the kitchen and he put his phone down. What was he doing? He was wasting time. All he had to do was read the last letter and hide the evidence. The only problem was how long the letter would be.

He glanced back at the door. The last envelope was weighty, but he didn’t have time to look at what else was in it, not yet, at least. First he wanted to read the letter.

But this time, all Kiku had written was a single line.

_I was going to ask you._

“I don’t get it.” He turned the note over. There was nothing on the back, either. “Ask me what?”

He reached across the bed for the envelope. Maybe whatever else was in there would give him a clue as to what Kiku meant. At least, he hoped so. He didn’t particularly want to spend the next few hours clutching at straws as he tried to work it out, especially when knowing Kiku, the question was most likely going to be “when can we get a dog”.

He turned the envelope upside down and shook it. Something round and metallic fell onto the bed. A ring.

_I was going to ask you._

He looked from the ring to the piece of paper and then back again. Had Kiku been going to ask him to marry him?

A laugh escaped him as he tentatively picked it up. “I don’t understand,” he said. When had Kiku been planning to ask? Had he just beaten Kiku to it? And if so, why hadn’t Kiku told him—if not about the proposal, then at least about the ring? “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Say something about what?” The door swung open before he could stop it. “Also, I realised I can’t make one of those coffees because we’ve already packed the saucepans—”

There was silence as Kiku registered the box of letters on the bed. Eventually he spoke. “Where did you get that?”

Yao fidgeted under his gaze. “The bottom of the wardrobe.”

“You can’t have; I packed it.” Kiku was scratching his wrist, a clear sign that he was nervous. 

“About that. I think you packed my shoes.”

He paused. “Your shoes?”

“Yeah, you know, my nice fancy brown ones?”

There was no answer. Yao had never seen him speechless before. Bewildered, Kiku left his position in the doorway and sank down onto the bed.

A moment passed. Yao glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Are you angry?”

“Huh? No, I—” Kiku shook his head. “Did you read them?”

“…Yeah.”

“All of them?”

“…Yeah.”

“Even the one with the—”

He nodded. “Even the one with the—”

Kiku made a strange noise and hid his face in his hands. He was blushing.

“I’d be up for it,” he said with a shrug, trying to make sure he sounded flippant. Kiku peeked at him from between his fingers. “It could be fun. You know, like that thing we did—”

“Yao!” Kiku hissed, clearly mortified. “There are people reading this, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Whoops.”

Kiku took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Why are _you_ sorry? I’m the one who should apologise.”

“I wanted to give them to you, you know,” he said. This time he was scratching his thumb, picking methodically at the skin around the nail. “I really did. Every time I wrote one, I said to myself ‘this is it; this time I’m going to give it to him for sure’. But I never could.”

Yao scolded him gently and pulled his hand away before he could break the skin. “I guess it was kind of unexpected, finding the ones from all the way back in 2014.”

Kiku picked up the toy dog and placed it in his lap. “For some of them, I wasn’t sure if giving them to you was the right thing to do,” he said. “But mostly, I was just too embarrassed. I didn’t know how you would react.”

“I liked reading them.”

“Really?”

“Really. And for what it’s worth,” he hesitated, thinking about the letter Kiku had written the day after their wedding. “I can see why you didn’t want to give me them.”

Kiku finally relaxed. He looked relieved. “Thanks.”

“What are you thanking me for, silly? We’re married.” He bumped Kiku’s shoulder with his own.

Kiku pushed back gently and wrinkled his nose. “You smell like hospitals.”

“Well, yes, that’s probably because I work in one.”

Kiku shot him The Look.

Yao laughed and then looked down at his knees. “Kiku,” he said, purposefully looking at the floor. “I mean it. Are you angry with me?”

The bed creaked as Kiku moved to sit cross-legged next to him. “No,” he said eventually, his gaze fixed on the wall. “I’m surprised, and a bit embarrassed, I guess, but I’m not angry. In some ways, I’m actually kind of glad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, these were things I’d been wanting to tell you for ages. And well, now you know.”

Yao moved his hand closer to Kiku’s, letting their little fingers touch. Kiku wasn’t angry. In fact, Kiku was glad—a little embarrassed, perhaps, and certainly caught off guard, but glad.

“Are you going to keep writing letters?” he asked.

Kiku thought about this for a moment. “Do you want me to?”

That was a good question. He hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “They’re nice. Reading them is nice. They remind me of you.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like… It’s almost like listening to you talk to me.”

“But?”

He hesitated, even though he was fairly certain Kiku knew what he was going to say next. He did, after all have psychic powers. “But, for some things, unless you actually tell me about them—I mean, tell me in some way or another, not just by talking to me—I don’t know what’s on your mind, you know?”

He glanced over at his husband. Kiku was scratching his thumb again, chewing the inside of his lip as he did so. Finally, he nodded. “That makes sense,” he said cautiously. “I mean, I know I don’t really do a great job of,” he waved his hands in a circular motion, “ _talking_ to you. But I do try.”

Yao considered this carefully. No, Kiku hadn’t told him about the letters, or indeed about any of their contents, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t trying at all. Heck, he was trying even as they spoke. “Yeah,” he said. “You do.” He was quiet for a moment. A thought had just occurred to him. He didn’t like it much, but in some ways that made it all the more important to ask. “Kiku,” he began, a little bit uncertain. “Is there… anything that makes it hard for you to talk to me?”

“Not you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Kiku sounded very certain about that, and Yao couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief. “I guess there’s two things I struggle with the most: when and how I ought to bring something up—that is, if I even should—and knowing what exactly it is that I want to say. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just overthinking. I just…”

He shook his head and looked at him uncertainly. Yao waited for him to finish.

“So that’s why I decided to try writing the letters,” he said. “At first, I thought that if I maybe wrote my thoughts down, you could read them when the time was right, and that way I wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting something important, or putting something the wrong way, or…”

“Is that what the notes are for as well?”

“Sort of. Usually with the letters I have something I _want_ to tell you, but with the notes, it’s usually something I know I _have_ to tell you. I don’t know, does that make sense? It just helps to have everything thought out, that’s all.”

Yao sat back on the bed and removed a box of ibuprofen from under his thigh. “It makes sense,” he said firmly. “It’s a good idea.”

Kiku seemed a little pleased at that.

“It’s just a little odd that you kept them, that’s all.”

“Normally I wouldn’t,” he said, reaching over him to pick up one of the envelopes and peek inside. “I think at first I only kept these ones because I was planning to write a letter to go along with them.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. In the end it didn’t seem like there was anything a letter could add. But I wanted to hold on to them. Those things were important, after all, even if they were hard.”

Yao squeezed his hand. Kiku very quickly squeezed back and then sat up straight to gently rest his head on Yao’s shoulder. He was heavy and uncomfortably warm, and his hair kept prickling the side of his neck. Yao could smell bleach and a hint of Kiku’s shampoo: lemongrass, mostly, with a hint of ginger. He tried very hard not to move. He liked this. It was nice.

“You really kept all this stuff?” he asked as Kiku straightened up.

“Well, yeah.” Kiku scratched his cheek, confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It just surprised me, that’s all,” he said. “I mean—the Rolo wrapper? Seriously?”

“You said you loved me enough to give me your last Rolo,” Kiku said, entirely earnestly.

And Kiku had the audacity to call _him_ sappy. “I still do,” he said, partly because it was true, and partly to see how Kiku would react.

He was disappointed. Kiku’s answer was far too matter-of-fact. “Well, obviously,” he said. “We’re married.”

“I mean, yes, we are, but—anyway, what about the cinema ticket? That’s from when we’d just started going out. We couldn’t have been together longer than a couple of weeks at most.”

“Yeah, but we’d known each other for longer than that.”

“For four months, Kiku.”

Kiku shrugged. “I just thought it might be nice, you know, for us to look back on.”

“…Do you know, that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said?”

“Is it?”

“Probably. I mean, it might also be the _only_ romantic thing you’ve ever said, but it still counts. Also, would you really give me a blowjob if I let you get a dog?”

Kiku choked on the sip of iced tea he’d stolen from his glass. “Sorry?”

“I said: would you really—”

“I heard what you said, silly. I’m just—I write all these nice letters for you and _that’s_ what you focus on?” He shook his head. “Terrible. Also, the answer is yes.”

“How is it that when you were first trying to tell me you love me, you got so embarrassed that you went and wrote a whole letter for me to read, and yet when it comes to telling me _this,_ you’re fine?”

“Simple: I really, really, _really_ want a dog.”

Yao supposed he really should have seen that coming. He glanced down at the pile of letters next to his knee. There was still something he had to know. “Kiku.”

His husband looked up from where he was stealing another sip of his iced tea.

“You got me a ring.”

A faint blush crept over the back of Kiku’s neck. “Yeah.”

“You never said anything.”

“You beat me to it,” Kiku said, as though that explained everything (which it didn’t). “I couldn’t give it to you after that.”

“You were going to propose?”

The blush had spread to Kiku’s cheeks. “I was.”

He retrieved the ring from under the pile of papers. “What happened?”

“I kept thinking it was too early,” Kiku said. “I mean, when I bought the ring, we hadn’t even talked about whether we wanted to get married or not. I thought asking might make it awkward. And then after you mentioned it, I thought ‘okay, I’ll ask him on his birthday’, and I guess… you just beat me to it.”

“How come you never said anything?”

“There wasn’t much I _could_ say. I mean, you’d already bought yourself one. It would have been strange for you to have two.”

“Yeah, but this one is from _you_.”

“I take it that means you want to keep it?”

This time, Yao shot _him_ The Look. “Is the Pope a Catholic?”

Kiku snorted. “You know,” he said, “it’s been nearly two years since I bought it. Let me see if the size is right. I want to know how good my guess was.”

Kiku very smoothly picked the ring up and slid it ever so gently onto his finger. He laughed weakly. It fit perfectly.

“Good,” Kiku said softly. “It fits.”

“Shouldn’t you say something nice if you’re proposing to me?” Yao said once his brain had caught up. “Actually, you know what, never mind. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“We’re already married, silly.”

“Well, I’ll marry you again, then.”

Kiku rolled his eyes affectionately and got to his feet. “Come on,” he said, extending a hand to help him up. The ring on his finger caught the light of the afternoon sun. “Let’s go and get something to eat.”

**Author's Note:**

> A small disclaimer: I am not a doctor and I know precisely 0 about medicine. The misdiagnosis of gallstones as asthma, however, has happened to a family member, so I know it is technically possible. 
> 
> Many thanks to [Supercrunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercrunch), [TheYellowHouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYellowHouse), and my friend Nele for ideas / support / betaing / encouragement (and scolding) I couldn't have done it without you and you are all lovely
> 
> If you read this please let me know what you thought! Kudos make my day but comments make my entire week
> 
> That's it from me if you're reading this and you have a dog please tell them i love them


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